Sigh... New Year... Yep...

I’ve had a mostly uneventful holiday season. We pretty much skipped it, honestly! All our friends mutually agreed no gifts but the gift of lots of peace and rest, and that’s what we all did. Kids still got gifts, but we all feel like we’ve been wrung out and hung up to dry. There’s no extra left.

My mother unexpectedly sent me over twice what she usually does, but she was also angling for me to do her favors, because nothing comes without a string from that woman. Still– I accepted, because I need some more dental work done and I’m losing sponsors on Patreon.

Not that I blame said sponsors– they’re supposed to sponsor my writing efforts and I’ve barely been able to write in almost a year! Times are really tough right now and some people that could afford to send me something monthly just can’t anymore, and I get it. No resentment here. Still, it puts me in a quandary, especially as I work out the Disability thing. One and a half years before my alimony is gone and then–?

I did come up with a plan that could help, at least temporarily, but I do need some help from others to pull it off. Nothing illegal, mind! Just– taking advantage of the long hair I’ve kept up for my entire adult life. We’ll see if it’s even feasible, but it could bring some income if I could work out the logistics.

Now I have to line up dental work and more medical tests for my abnormal blood issues. That’s next on the agenda. Also taxes– if I can get the 1099 from Patreon (for once!) I can get Earned Income Tax Credit (because my writing counts as “paid work”.) AND filling out papers for being my sister’s money manager or “Payee”.

See me slumping over… Ugh.

I’ve been taking Prozac for over six months, but now, like always– it’s just numbing me out rather than preventing depression. At a certain point, it just gives me the mildest form of depression, or dysthemia a.k.a. anhedonia, which means nothing is exciting anymore and I am SUPER boring. I just can’t stand myself like this. I only decided to take the antidepressants for a few more months because of the panic attacks. But I haven’t had one in months at this point– until last weekend…

Amara told me in an email that she decided not to move in with us in the future, and Cat freaked out when I told her, and THAT sent me over the edge when I was trying to buy socks at the store. I had to leave before getting the socks because I started shaking, and I knew the signs for a meltdown were imminent. The future scares the fuck out of me, and by the time I reached the car my vision was narrowing and I had tremors.

Cat drove us home and I explained to her (AGAIN!!) that I was going to be a little “out-of-it” for a couple days, but then I’d be okay. Sure enough, I was wildly dissociative for a couple of days, feeling out-of-it like I was high or something. I kept forgetting things and losing track of things as bad as a brain fog. By the end of day two, Cat got pissed off at me for forgetting to run the dishes, and asked me to stay away from her for a while! When she was calmer the next day, she explained that she was angry at my being so wah-wah-bananas, because my medication and therapy is supposed to stop that!

Sighing… I pointed out that I warned her I would be loopy for a couple of days because I almost always am after a panic attack. The meds and therapy were helping, seeing as how I hadn’t had a panic attack in WEEKS, but if a very stressful event comes along, I can still get them. There aren’t any guarantees. CD-PTSD is very complex, multi-layered, and difficult to cure completely. Even after a lot of progress, there can be a lot of set-backs and back-sliding. I’m so much better off than most in my position because of MDMA therapy– miraculously so! But shit can still get to me. I’m not kidding about being scared of the fucking future here. Amara not joining us means we may have to move, and I really don’t want to! I patiently explained that to Cat, but she still seemed confused or skeptical. Later, I asked her if she’d like to talk to MY therapist about it — asking questions online and listening to an expert. I can talk ’til I’m blue in the face, and Cat will always doubt me. But maybe talking to Josie will help.

I don’t think Cat fully appreciates how… fucked up I really am. She didn’t seem to understand that I didn’t actively choose to get dissociative. I’m handling her moods better now that she’s really trying and isn’t in a bad one nearly all of the time! However, she felt justified in being angry at me because she didn’t understand fully how a real panic attack works, or dissociative symptoms. All of it is mostly outside my control. I have a narrow window before a panic attack to get myself to a safe place (usually), and I know how it works well enough to say I’m going to be zoned out for a couple of days, even as I feel it coming– but that doesn’t mean I can stop it and make myself better. I don’t have access to a magical switch. I just have to ride it out to the other side and deal as best I can.

So, the state of things at the end of 2024 and the beginning of 2025 can best be summed up by the sound of screams, followed by a long, drawn-out breath (the calm before the storm) to be swiftly followed by more screams right after January 20th. They won’t stop again for up to a decade, and I’m not sure how I’m going to deal. I’m already exhausted, my strength spent… How the fuck do I survive what’s coming?

I guess we’ll find out together, because I’ve decided not to dismantle my blogs. I’ll keep writing until they take me or kill me. I realized that I already feel so DONE that imprisonment would be anti-climatic at this point. Because while I’m not suicidal anymore, I don’t particularly mind dying. I’m fucking tired. Maybe I’ll shift back into Amped Up Survivor mode at some point, I don’t know. That’s difficult when you have fatigue issues, but who knows? I may yet surprise myself.